The Quest, Part II: The Silk Route

On his way to school, Bhuvan finds a message in a red envelope by the roadside. He finds these verses inside.

O traveler, if you do pursue

Boundless treasures meant for you

Keep your eyes open, you need

Signs ahead that you must heed

Your destiny lies from all concealed

Waiting for you, to be revealed.

Look out for a fluttering yellow

Out there, where the mulberries mellow.

Thenceforward -  

                                                                                           

“What in God’s name is this?”

Taken aback by the message, Bhuvan looks around, wondering what this means.

“Someone trying to fool around with me; this must be a prank?”

But who could it be and why would someone take so much pain just to play a prank on him? Although, this seems unlikely, yet the other possibility of this being real is too fantastic. Flummoxed, he reads the lines again. It clearly states that there is some treasure and whatever it is, it’s meant for him, provided he is the traveler who is addressed in the poem. Someone is trying to lead him to the treasure with clues. This poem is the first of them. The second clue has been marked in yellow, probably by a yellow cloth. The last two lines talks about his destiny, which will lead him to the treasure. It is hidden from others and will be revealed only to him.

“Does that mean that the clues are visible only to me?” He frowns.

That may explain why no one noticed the red marker and the cairn earlier. But then, what if it is some sort of illegal enterprise, what if it is a trap? With his mind churning out all sorts of possibilities and considerations; eventually his in-born curiosity and the likelihood of missing out on an adventure outweighs all his other apprehensions. Bhuvan decides that the only way to understand is to go ahead and find the next clue. He reads the lines again.

“Out there, where the mulberries mellow”

There is only one place in the valley where mulberry grows and that is in the silk farm called Silk Route. He knows this place very well because he had done quite a lot of study on sericulture for his Geography project in the tenth standard. He had visited the Silk Route, and spoken to its cheerful proprietor Wong Hon-hei. Wong Hon-hei, is the lone descendant of his father Wong Fei-hung, who had migrated from Tibet to India a long time back in the fifties, during the Chinese occupation of the plateau. Despite all the odds, Wong Fei-hung established his own Sericulture farm in this Himalayan valley and prospered.

The Silk Route is a mile down the road, on a huge patch of alluvial flood plain on the bank of the Mochhu. Bhuvan sets off at a brisk pace towards Wong Hon-hei’s farm. The cheerful silk farmer is one of his very few friends and he will definitely help. A mile long walk brings him to a point where a wide dirt track leaves the main road and goes down the slope toward the riverbank. He hits the dirt-road and comes to a traditional cattle barrier made of the trunks of young eucalyptus trees. He slides the upper beam to one side, steps over and crosses the lower one and then slides the upper beam back in place. Walking down the slope, he reaches Wong Hon-hei’s residence and calls out for him. But his calls are answered by the housekeeper Lady Zhao. He learns from her that Wong Hon-hei has gone to the city and won’t be back before nightfall. Nevertheless, Bhuvan makes his way to the mulberry farm by himself.

As he draws closer to the barbed wire fencing around the mulberry farm, he is disappointed to see that none of the big plants have any fruit on them.

“Is this a hoax? Or is there some-place else where mulberry trees are growing?”  Bhuvan questions in disappointment.

Right then, he remembers that these Mulberry bushes are grown only for their leaves to feed the silk worm caterpillar. They are not supposed to fruit. Wong Hon-hei has a small fruit Orchard at the other end of the farm which has fruit trees. Along with the plums, peaches and oranges, there are a couple of big Mulberry trees as well. Instantly, Bhuvan sets out for the orchard. He runs along the boundary to the far side of the farm jumping ditches, ducking overhanging foliage and running through dense undergrowth. Reaching the other side, he stretches the barbed wire fence apart and eases through the gap into the orchard. The boy has been here a number of times and knows the place well. He walks between the rows of orange trees to where he knows the two mulberry trees are. Reaching there he looks up at one tree and then the other. Both of the small trees are heavily laden with fruit. Getting closer to the trunk of one tree, treading on the squishy fruits fallen at the base, Bhuvan inspects the branches.

“There’s something hanging up there.”

To his joy, he finds a bright yellow piece of silk waving at him from one of the branches above. Gingerly, he climbs up the trunk onto an overhanging branch, careful not to have the fruits stain his clothing. One end of the scarf is tied around an overhead branch, with a yellow envelope in its folds. Bhuvan takes out the envelope and finds yet another neatly folded piece of hand-made paper inside. On it is written in the same hand writing, another verse.

What’s the treasure that you want?

What you shall have and others can’t?

O seeker, for you does fortune wait

Your deepest yearning will it sate

Atop the hallowed black rock mountain,

The guru’s name chants a holy fountain

Blessed water shall forge your Karma true

To make you ready for your gift in blue.

This is a story written in five parts. For going on to Part I, click on the link - Daydreamer

For Part III - On Black Rock Mountain

For Part IV - The Lonely Pine

For Part V - The Treasure At Last

The Quest, Part I: Daydreamer

Part I: Daydreamer

People are rooted to the real world, they revel in times of real joy and lament in times of real sorrow. At other times they wallow in the routine. But even in the real world, there are few, capable of effortless transition between the mundane and the magical.

With a pencil stub held between his teeth and elbows planted firmly on the desk, Bhuvan looks through his horn rimmed glasses across the pool of bobbing oval heads to where Mr. Phillips is deriving the Nernst equation on the blackboard. The chalk in the Physics teacher's hand squeaks across the board laying down thermodynamic gibberish and he looks on with rapt attention. His brown eyes are intense and his gaze is unwavering. For any unsuspecting bystander he may appear to be mesmerized by how Gibbs free energy is being manipulated to get to the Nernst equation. But someone close to him will understand that his mind is actually not inside this classroom at all. No one really knows on which meadow inside his mind he is grazing his flock of sheep; or the mountain stream where he is fishing for trout. And that if he is not tilling a mountain terrace with his power tiller or hitchhiking across the great Himalayas or taking a nap in the valley of flowers, he is in most probability, sitting idle under the lonely blue pine visible at the top of the Logodama hill. 

Fortunately or unfortunately for him, none of his classmates or any of the teachers know much of what goes on inside his head. He is not the most popular kid in his class. Given that he is the best of his class, with athletic good looks and a pleasant personality, he ought to have been better liked. But although his classmates are in awe of his superior academic proficiency, they stay away from this introverted boy. The end result is that Bhuvan does not have many people to call as friends. He does not seem to mind it though. He has his own little world.

With his satchel slung across his shoulder, Bhuvan strides across the town square with his usual loping gait. The shopkeepers have just begun to open up for the day’s business. He averts eye contact with the few morning walkers he passes on the road just to avoid exchanging unnecessary pleasantries. In this small Himalayan valley populated by a few thousand, most people know most of the others. Bhuvan is not particularly excited about getting recognized or being spoken to. Though there is a school bus which takes all the other town children, he finds it easier to walk the five kilometers to his school every morning. That way he can see and feel everything that he meets on the way and more importantly he does not have to bear the cacophony inside the school bus. He enjoys this part of the daily routine so much that he starts for school much earlier than required; who knows what new adventure he might miss if he is late.

Having crossed the town square and the market he slows down to a saunter. The road is almost empty, with an occasional vehicle passing by. He becomes receptive to the fresh morning breeze caressing his face. The rustling eucalyptus leaves serenade music into his ears. He follows a dislodged leaf on its way down as it rolls over hundreds of times in the air, before landing on the road with a rasping sound. A couple of sparrows are restlessly whirring about on the eaves of a roadside house.

“What’s the matter with you guys? Why are you so worried?” Bhuvan asks them.

He listens closely and hears them lament that a stray cat broke into their nest and took their eggs away. A little ahead, the jangling of bells speaks of cattle being herded away to graze. Every morning he sees a dozen cattle being led away by a couple of cowherds up the slopes, to some mountain meadow where there must be plenty for the herd to graze upon. Sometimes he wishes he could accompany them to that distant meadow, always wondering how beautiful it must be. Amidst all these, the continuous lashing sound made by the icy waters of the Mochhu River is ever audible. The sound of this mountain river can be heard from everywhere in the valley. It is the perennial song of this place. It is painful for him even to imagine what the valley would be like if one day, all of a sudden, the Mochhu decided to flow silently. A profound smile lights up Bhuvan’s face. It is as if all at once the cool breeze, the rustling leaves, the grieving sparrows, the jangling bells and the river’s song, all make perfect sense to him.

“Thank you God, this is how it is supposed to be.” He looks up to the heavens and says a small prayer.

In this state of delight he makes his progress towards his destination, dabbling in new revelations, and discovering new stories with every step. As he walks on, engrossed in his surroundings, he notices a bright red cloth flapping on the brae beside the road.

“What the hell is that?”

On closer scrutiny Bhuvan finds a piece of silk fluttering in the breeze trying to overcome the restraint administered at one end by a carefully constructed cairn. There is also a red envelop tucked delicately under the pile of stones. It looks like a message, left there for somebody.

“This is so unusual. Who is this meant for? Why would anyone leave a message here?”

From the manner in which it is arranged, there is no doubt as to its deliberate intent. But who would come all this way to leave a message in the middle of an unfrequented mountain road? What should he do about it?

The inquisitive boy falls into a dilemma; part of him instructs, “Bhuvan, just leave it and move on.”

His curiosity however, urges him to hang around a bit longer. Finally giving in to this urge, he scrambles up the brae and perches himself on a rocky ledge that provides a clear view of the road and the cairn. He eagerly watches out for the person who comes to collect the message, but in vain. After lingering for a long time, having observed a number of villagers, a couple of cars and few motorbikes pass by, Bhuvan finally clambers down the slope. It surprises him that none of the passersby seemed to take notice of the red silk marker even though it is very conspicuous. He decides to go ahead and take out the envelope.

“Maybe, there is an address mentioned where I can get the message delivered.”

He pries out the envelope from under the pile of rocks and carefully opens it. There is nothing written on the envelope, no name, no address. Inside the red envelope there is a folded piece of handmade paper. Bhuvan draws the letter out and unfolds it. Written on it, in a beautiful hand, are these verses:

O traveler, if you do pursue

Boundless treasures meant for you

Keep your eyes open, you need

Signs ahead that you must heed

Your destiny lies from all concealed

Waiting for you, to be revealed.

Look out for a fluttering yellow

Out there, where the mulberries mellow.

This is a story written in five parts. For going on to Part II, click on the link - Silk Route
For Part III - On Black Rock Mountain
For Part IV - The Lonely Pine
For Part V - The Treasure At Last

সময় বদলের কবিতা ।

আমার লেখা বাংলা ভাষায় প্রথম কবিতা ।

সময় বদলের কবিতা ।

পরির্বতনের চলছে হাওয়া
অধীর দেখছি তোমায়,
ভাবছ কি বসে, কি করে চলবে
বদলে গেলে সময়?

চিন্তা করো না ওসব নিয়ে
বেরিয়ে আসবে পথ,
নিজের কাজটি করতে থাকো
হয়ে একেবারে সৎ ।।

আজ না তো কাল আসারই ছিল
দিন বদলের পালা,
সময় কি আর থাকবে থেমে
সে, সর্বদা চঞ্চলা ।।

সময় থাকতে এই কথাটিকে
কষে বেধে নাও গাঠঁ,
তৈরি থেকো খোলা মনে
জীবন পড়াবে পাঠ ।।

এই কথাটি মানতে তোমার
না চায় যদি মন,
লিখিয়ে নিও, পরবে পিছিয়ে
দুঃখে ভরা জীবন ।।

সময়ের সাথে তাল মিলিয়ে,
দাও দড়িয়ায় ঝাঁপ ।
ভয় পেয়ো না, শিখেই যাবে
সাতাঁর, হবে না চাপ ।।

দিন বদল ই এই জনমের
জ্যেষ্ঠ তত্ব অচল ।
তার সমুখে নেই কারো জোর,
সকল সূত্র বিফল ।।

বৃষ-রূপি সময় যখন প্রচন্ড,
আসবে পানে ধেয়ে
সাহস জুটিয়ে, দাড়িয়ে যাবে
সামনে বুক ফুলিয়ে ।।

চকিতে তার শিং দুটি ধরে
মারবে হ্যাচ্কা টান,
দাপটে তোমার পোষ মানবে,
তোমারই করবে বাখান ।।

এখনও দেখছি যায়নি তোমার
মন থেকে সংশয়,
ভূলে কি গেছ ভাগ্য সদা
বীরের প্রতি সদয়?

আর ভেবো না, ঘন নিশ্বাস
বুকে ভরে নাও দুটি
এগিয়ে চলো জীবন-পথে
ভয়কে দাওহে ছুটি ।।

---------------অভিজ্ঞান সাহা

Darjeeling- Queen of the Himalayas

(Written for and published in USPeople, the USP employee newsletter in 2014)

Nestled deep in the Lesser Himalayas of West Bengal, two thousand meters above sea level is a hill station known as the Queen of the Himalayas. Darjeeling is a Tibetan name which translated to English means the Land of The Thunderbolt.

Historically, this hill station was of strategic importance as a British outpost in the Himalayas. Later it was fashioned out by the British for their summer residence and then for the commercial cultivation of tea. The hill retreat has a hundred and eighty years of rich history since the British East India Company took it over from the then warring kingdoms of Nepal and Sikkim.

“The one land that all men desire to see, and having seen once by even a glimpse would not give that glimpse for the shows of the rest of the world combined.” Mark Twain said after visiting Darjeeling.

The journey by road to Darjeeling provides many such views

Darjeeling is high on the wish list of tourists the world over, owing to its scenic beauty and numerous treks. Tourism and Tea are the two major industries in this Hill district.

We planned a visit in the month of April which is most comfortable in terms of weather and the warmth of the spring season ensures the best of views. I and my wife set out with hearts full of expectation and eagerness to explore every bit of this beautiful hill retreat.

The road from Siliguri, the nearest railhead and airport, is a typical tortuous mountain road with ever increasing altitude that goes around one hill after the other. It is a very pleasant ride offering beautiful views of the mountains and tea gardens. A three and half hour journey takes us to Darjeeling.

We decide to avoid the conventional tourist places, the ‘five points’ and the ‘seven points’ sort of site seeing on this trip. We are more interested in having a peek into the heart of this small town, maybe find our own sweet spot on its map that is not frequented by many and capture some unique aspects of life in this hill station in some good photographs. Collecting a map of the town from the tourist information centre is a good starting point towards that end. We decide to walk our way around the town and try to avoid hiring vehicles as much as possible. Having set out thus, on foot, we savor every visual delight that this quaint little hill station throws up along the way.

Chowrastha – Heart of Darjeeling

Walking up the famous Mall Road one reaches the big town square ‘the Chowrastha’ which is undoubtedly the heart of this town. With restaurants, tea shops, souvenir and curio stores lining two sides, a large amphitheatre on another and a picturesque panorama of mountains on the last, this is the perfect place for relaxing, a cup of steaming Darjeeling tea in hand.

The statue of Nepalese poet Bhanubhakta Acharya at the Darjeeling town square. He translated the epic Ramayana from Sanskrit to Nepali and is revered as the ‘Adikavi’ or the first poet of Nepal.

This neat and clean town square is favored by tourists and townspeople alike for spending the afternoons. We spend quite some time sitting on a bench, just relaxing and enjoying the view. It is not unusual to find one of the talented local bands dishing out popular music for the bystanders.

The path to Aloobari

A narrow lane, out of Chowrastha brings one to the road going to the villages of Aloobari and Phoolbari. The three kilometer walk to the Aloobari Monastery is one of the most refreshing ones I have had in a long time. The imposing grey mountains, the deep valleys and the lush greenery are a treat for the eyes.

Away from the congestion of the town, unfrequented by tourists; the path is not on the conventional ‘To See’ or ‘To Do’ list for visitors. As one follows the path and goes up the hill, habitation dwindles, sounds become fainter and the breeze is stronger and chillier. The road is like a corridor lined with huge Japanese pines. Midway, we hit upon an open space with a sloping meadow on one side and a wall of sighing conifers on the other. It seems just like the place we have been looking for.

A small village on the way to Aloobari.

Sitting on a big boulder by the roadside we dabble in the serenity of the spot. The strong cool breeze whistles through the needles of the pines. Blended in perfect harmony with the surroundings are a small hamlet and adjoining rice fields at the bottom of the meadow. The wind brings with it faint sounds of children playing in the distant fields. From some far off rice terrace, the dull drone of a power tiller is barely discernible. It is a vantage point before which the Middle Himalayas are laid out in full splendor. Hilton’s ‘Shangri La’ may not have been any different from this.

Darjeeling Rangit Valley Passenger Ropeway

One thing that no one should miss when in Darjeeling is the ride on the Ropeway. It is a two and a half kilometer cable car ride from the hills of Darjeeling to Puttabong Tukvar Tea Estate. Tukvar is one of the largest and oldest tea gardens in Darjeeling that started commercial operations way back in the 1850s.

The two way ride lasts 40 mins. The cable car descends from the hills of Darjeeling, goes over a series of mountain spurs with their slopes covered in Tea plantations.

The picturesque Tukvar Tea Estate comprises of many such slopes planted with tea bushes.

The rapid loss of altitude on the way down causes ones ear drums to buzz. As the cable car slides down the line and goes deeper into the valley, the air becomes heavier. Compounded by the languor induced by the quick loss of altitude, a heavy curtain of silence induces a mild dizziness. The cable car stops midway, for about half a minute. Suspended thus, over a hundred feet above the tea plantation, we are spellbound by the surrounding verdancy. It is like being trapped in a floating bubble. Amid the undulating greens of the tea plantation below, the grey of the huge mountains around and the vast expanse of the clear blue sky above, our bubble seems very fragile. It is a humbling experience the beauty of which can hardly be expressed in words.

View from the Rangeet Valley Cable Car.

Take a stroll when in Darjeeling

Not hiring a tourist cab turns out to be a wise decision. We read the map and walk to whichever place we want to see; taking shortcuts wherever available. The streets in Darjeeling are a lot of fun to walk on. Devoid of excessive traffic and relatively pollution free, they provide great views as well as fresh cool breeze all the time.

We take a stroll down a walkway near the Chowrastha that is used by the townspeople for their morning walk and recreation. The peacefulness of this place coupled with a magnificent view of the valley is very enticing. The calm and unhurried demeanor of the townspeople gives the impression that time has stopped passing. It is as if we have been transported back in time, away from the hectic schedule of our own busy lives.

A peaceful village road in Darjeeling

To renew the pleasurable experience we revisit this beautiful walkway, early in the morning on the last day of our stay. We are elated to find everything shrouded in a blanket of thick mist. It looks all the more amazing. The only sounds audible are the pitter patter of dewdrops falling from overhead leaves.

Last but not in any way the least

Our sojourn into Darjeeling would have been complete but for a few other things that are typical tourist attractions and in a way define the history, geography and spirit of this hill station. These are a few things one must not miss when in Darjeeling.

A visit to Darjeeling is never really complete without a view of the sunrise and the five peaks of Mount Kangchenjunga from the Tiger Hill Observatory. Kangchenjunga is the third highest mountain in the world. The Toy Train of the Darjeeling Himalayan Railways which has been accorded World Heritage status by UNESCO is another integral feature of Darjeeling. The Gorkha war memorial located on the gigantic Batasia railway loop commemorates Gorkha martyrs in various wars. It also offers a beautiful view of the Kangchenjunga.

Clockwise from Left: The beautiful walkway near Chowrastha.

Top Right: A blanket of mist early in the morning.

Bottom Right: This walkway is an integral part of the morning routine of the townspeople.

We are lucky to be gifted this beautiful view of a pair of rainbows after a light afternoon drizzle. 

The Himalayan Mountaineering Institute and museum is definitely worth visiting if one is interested in the history of mountaineering and the conquests of Mt. Everest. The Darjeeling Zoo is in the same neighborhood. The Red Panda, the rare Snow and Clouded Leopards and various types of beautiful Himalayan Pheasants are an interesting watch.

View of Mt. Kangchenjunga from the Batasia Loop.

Clockwise, Bottom Left: The newly constructed town hall, Gorkha Rang Manch.

Top Left: A young Red Panda playing in the Darjeeling Zoological Park.

Right: The statue of Sherpa Tenzin Norgay, outside the Himalayan Mountaineering Institute.

Having seen all these places, if one can coax his exhausted body to go a little further, a short uphill walk to the Mahakala temple is definitely worth the effort. One can enjoy the afternoon, resting on the lawn, amid Buddhist prayer flags fluttering all around. The uniqueness of this temple is in the fact that it has shared altars for deities of both Hindu and Buddhist religions.

Amid Buddhist Prayer flags in the Mahakala temple.

As we conclude two days of sightseeing, it is time to pack up for a return to our normal life and its mundane businesses. Exhausted physically, but spiritually invigorated, with plenty of fresh new memories and memory cards full of beautiful moments, we make our return journey ‘downhill’ as the locals call it here. The memories of this trip will endure forever in our minds.

The Rock Fort of Bhuvanagiri

(Written for and published in USPeople, the USP employee newsletter in 2014)

At a distance of about 32 miles from the city of Hyderabad, atop a monolithic hill that looks like a huge granite elephant in repose; sits the rock fort of Bhuvanagiri, more popular by the name Bhongir.

Along with Mohammedazam Lahori and Pradeep Ganganala, two of my colleagues at USP India, I made a trip to this place sometime in the month of March.

Built in the 11th century by King Tribhuvanmalla Vikramaditya of the Western Chalukyan dynasty, the fort was named Bhuvanagiri after its founder. Along the course of its long history it passed through the hands of the Kakatiya dynasty, the Bahmani Sultanate and then fell to ruins after the decline of the Nizams of Hyderabad.

Apart from being a monument protected by the Archaeological Survey of India, the site currently serves as training grounds for rock climbing, bouldering and rappelling enthusiasts. 

The granite monolith forms the natural citadel for the fort.

The first thing that strikes a visitor, on entering the premises of the fort, is its incredible design and architecture. One cannot help but wonder about the enormous hard work it may have taken a thousand years back to build such a structure, especially since it is built on the face of solid granite.

The egg-like shape of the rock accounts for the inaccessibility of the fort from most of the sides. The two available approaches to this fort are guarded by huge rocks. With sturdy walls made of granite slabs, water filled moats, strategically placed artillery, this fort was designed to be impregnable from all sides.

Inside the fort, one can find underground chambers, trapdoors and all the mysterious elements of architecture typical to ancient forts. The granite rock has a good share of cracks and crevices for water to get collected. A long fissure in the huge monolith has been dammed up at a number of levels to form a series of water reservoirs. There was no dearth of water. That Bhongir fort had the capability to withstand any siege was very evident.

The crumbling ramparts, turrets, walls and arched doorways of the Bhuvanagiri fort.

The summit of this hill houses the erstwhile palace, now in ruins. Steps chiseled out on the face of the rock lead visitors to the top of the hill. Though it is a mere five hundred feet climb from the base, the glaring sun and the steep incline may test one’s endurance. The summit however, we found, was like a breezy porch, which soothes all weariness. 

Steps chiseled into the rock, leading to the top of the hill. The iron handrails are a modern addition for safety during the steep climb

From the top of the hill one gets a magnificent view of the surrounding plains. Since we were there in the dry season, the colors were relatively dull. But the countryside should be a treat for the eyes during the monsoons or shortly after, when the earth turns a darker brown and the plains below verdant with fresh vegetation.

The palace itself was a small one, survived by its walls and a partially collapsed roof. The crumbling structure had a mix of elements from both ancient Hindu and Muslim architecture, complete with inscriptions and carvings. The realization of the age and historical significance of the rundown building made me very contemplative. As I ran my fingers over its walls, I thought I heard the sighs of a thousand years of untold stories, a million characters from the bygone eras struggling to jump right out.

The silent ruin of the palace broods over the modern settlement below. 

Ancient artillery - Pradeep ready for takeoff as Azam “turns on the ignition” 

Having spent some time in the breezy shade of the ruins, we retraced our steps down the hill. We were tired from exertion and famished. The climb down was a quicker one, with the hot sun beating down from above and hunger tormenting us from within. Only a big serving of Hyderabadi Biryani and a jar of cola could rejuvenate us, we decided.

As we exited the fort, I turned back for a last look at the summit. The silent ruins looked out plaintively from above, as if sadly seeing off a near one. “I will be back in the monsoons,” I promised, “we are not done yet.”

Clockwise from bottom left: The narrow flight of steps leading to the entrance of the fort.

View of the surrounding plains from the top of the Bhongir fort.

Stone steps at the entry to the fort. It is amazing how these structures have survived the ravages of centuries.

The battered walls of the Bhongir palace are in need of serious restoration efforts.

From Left to Right – I, Mohammedazam Lahori, Pradeep Ganganala, on the roof of the Bhongir palace.

My Findings from Life

(This article was written for and published in 'Thread' the Reunion-2015 magazine of my alma mater Uttar Banga Krishi Vishwavidyalaya)

Sixteen years ago, on a dreary September afternoon, I walked in through the gates of the then BCKV North Bengal Campus, for the first time. I still remember the anxiety I carried in my heart of what hostel life held in store for me. I had little other thoughts in my mind. Having failed to make my mark in any of the Medical entrance examinations, I had just let a lot of my daydreams of a career in Medicine simply evaporate. Unsure of what I was going to do, completely ignorant of where this course in Agriculture would lead me, I had literally entered this campus with nothing specific in my mind, no clear ambition, no solid goal.

Sixteen years later, as I sit down to write this article today, my mind is flooded with wonderful memories of the bygone days. My conscience is swayed by a concoction of various emotions, a profound nostalgia. I was requested to write an article about opportunities for Agriculture graduates outside the field of agriculture. I started doing some research to that end, but soon realized that such a data based presentation of probable opportunities would turn out into a damp piece of information that any search engine can throw up in a matter of seconds. In all these years I have realized that there is no dearth of opportunities in terms of jobs. What matters the most is whether we are game enough to avail of them. I would like to share realizations from my own experiences.

Having taken two hundred six credits of as diverse a set of courses as our curriculum had in those days, we were well equipped with basic know how to enable transition into a wide range of job functions. However, the most critical question was; what job suits one best? Remember the old Bengali adage that says, “Porashona kore je, gari-ghora chore se.” Believe me it’s not just about boarding a vehicle anymore; it’s the choice of the vehicle that matters. It is easier for those who have a definite aim, a clear vision of what their future should be. But for the second type with whom chaos is the natural order of life, choices are always paired with risks. I am not of the first type; I had come to terms with this fact way back in my life. I have always depended on instincts to decide what’s best for me. Many a times I have been wrong but I have learnt from those mistakes.

The realization ‘I am who I am’ has always helped me to stay out of the futile cycles of comparison and competition. In today’s competitive world it is a difficult task to nurture one’s individuality to an extent that one never has to look out for social approval. Walking one’s own path, making one’s own mistakes and learning to take things in the stride are an essential part of ‘growing up’.

It is very important to ‘look-in’ and take stock of one’s strengths and weaknesses. The better one gets to know oneself the easier it becomes to make correct choices. A person who is ignorant of his own self falls prey to herd behavior. We are humans not sheep. Remember “The Road Not Taken”? Venturing into uncharted territories once in a while does have its own benefits. Haruki Murakami says in Norwegian Woods, “If you only read the books that everyone is reading, you can only think what everyone is thinking.”

While one’s individuality makes him stand out in the crowd, acknowledging others’ individualities and accepting mutual interdependence makes him wise. Ego is the worst bane in any social interaction, be it personal or professional. In the long run, just talent will not catapult one into the forefront; correct attitude and relationships are necessary for sustenance in hard times and to keep one on the right track. Remember what Rocky Balboa says, “But it ain't about how hard ya hit. It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.” Believe me when I say the dude is right.

When I was young, I heard a Buddhist monk say, “If a person teaches you even a single alphabet, he is your teacher. Respect him.” Each day we get to learn from different people, different situations, if we are receptive enough. Respect and gratitude are two virtues that help in building relationships. I think of human relations as actual achievements in life. They have always given me strength and confidence. The willingness to learn is a great asset in any profession. It helps to keep one’s mind open; for knowledge can come from anywhere. It is the eagerness to learn that keeps one motivated even when the going is tough.

From the domain of Agriculture to my current industry of pharmaceuticals, it has been an interesting journey, specializing in pesticide chemistry, doing my masters in plant molecular biology, working in biopharmaceutical quality control then analytical research and development, working with proteins to peptides and now carbohydrates; there have been a number of boats I have rowed in. Throughout this journey I have learnt that things are only as difficult as one makes them out to be. It depends on us to allow others dictate what we can do and what we can’t.

Sixteen years ago, at the ‘Fresher’s Welcome’ arranged for our batch, each of us was asked what he/ she wants to be in life. I clearly remember, I had said, “I want to be a person who does whatever his heart wants to.” It was an un-thought reply, seemingly naive at that point in life. But today when I look back, I may not have done everything that my heart told me to, but whatever I did, I always listened to my heart. Everything else kept aside, the objective of human life is to be happy. One should always hold on to the small things that bring happiness. Other things generally take care of themselves. Today if someone asks me what I wanted to be, it would be, “Happy and at peace with myself.”

PS: I have always believed that the people we meet in our lives have an influence, howsoever big or small on our lives. What we are today reflects a cumulative result of all these little influences. My Alma mater, my teachers, my friends, my seniors and juniors and every single individual connected with UBKV, I pay my obeisance to you, for the way in which you have touched my life. I am proud of being what I am today and I am profoundly grateful to you for that.